


Sick Day

by stcrmpilot



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Post-Season/Series 03, hopping on this bandwagon hell yea, they’re so dumb I love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 11:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17661704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stcrmpilot/pseuds/stcrmpilot
Summary: When Hardy calls in sick, a suspicious Ellie decides to pay him a visit.





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I’m just here to say I would die for Alec Hardy!

Ellie found out early Tuesday morning that Hardy had called in sick, officially making it the second-most shocking day of her life.

Her first instinct had been to feel concerned. Perhaps, she thought, his not-a-condition had worsened, despite the pacemaker. Perhaps something new had come up. But then she'd realized he would never do something so peremptory as call in for that; her finding out in the papers the next day was more likely. He'd rather have a heart attack in his office than willingly and consciously go to the hospital, as he had proven on more than one occasion. Besides, there'd been no sign the last time she'd seen him that he was anything but healthy, and in fact he had happily chased down a suspect with her on Saturday night.

Having ruled out his heart, she'd entertained the delightful idea that Hardy had actually come down with the cold that'd been going around. She couldn't even imagine Hardy with a cold, but damn if she hadn't spent the last few hours trying. That had kept her occupied all day, and then, having already gotten the laughing out of the way, she had decided to check in on him after work. She brought the files they'd been poring over the other day; she knew he had to be pretty miserable, if he'd decided to stay home for probably the first time since they'd started working together, and he liked to work to distract himself.

What she hadn't expected, when she showed up at his house late that afternoon and knocked until he finally came to the door, was that Hardy wasn't sick at all.

He groaned when he saw her through the glass, running a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it. He slid the door open with more force than necessary and leaned against the doorframe.

"Miller, what d'you want?" he asked wearily.

She eyed him suspiciously. For once, he wasn't wearing a suit; he had on pyjama pants and a t-shirt, and clearly hadn't left the house all day. He looked exhausted, his hair sticking up on one side, dark circles under his eyes, but he always looked tired and it never stopped him from showing up to work.

"You don't look sick," she said.

He frowned. "Who told you I was sick?"

"Brian. Said you'd called in."

"Well, where did he hear it?"

Ellie shrugged.

"Tell him to mind his own bloody business," Hardy grumbled, and made to shut the door. She stuck a foot in the track.

"You aren't sick, are you?" she said.

He sighed. "No. Now, are we done?"

"What, like you've got somewhere to be?" Ellie managed to lever the door open and step inside, much to his dismay. Her eyes swept the room, looking for clues, before fixing on him again. "C'mon," she needled, "why weren't you at work?"

"Go home, Miller."

"Nope." She held up the thick armful of files she'd brought. "If you're not gonna talk, I'm working on this."

He stared at her for a moment, bewildered that she was bossing him around in his own house. Then he tossed his hands in the air in defeat, and wandered off into the kitchen. "I'll make tea, I guess," he said, followed by a string of discontented muttering.

Smirking to herself at her victory, Ellie set to work laying out the files on his living room floor. It was a familiar arrangement; ever since Hardy had come back to Broadchurch, they had often found themselves here, working together after hours.

"Where's Daisy?" she asked, as Hardy came back holding two mugs.

"With her mother. For the break," he explained. He sat heavily on the sofa, behind her and to the left, and sighed.

She glanced back to see him with his head rested in his hands, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "You alright?" she asked, going to take a sip of her tea.

"Fine." He sat up and grabbed a stack of papers at random, studying them intently. She wasn't sure whether he was trying to avoid her gaze, or whether he just couldn't read the text properly without his glasses.

She shrugged. "If you say so."

There was a long silence then, which Ellie found perfectly companionable but Hardy clearly did not, judging by the way he wouldn't stop fidgeting. She stole glances back at him, wondering how long it would take him to crack.

It wasn't long.

"Well–" he started finally.

She looked to him.

"Oh, God, never mind," he sighed.

"No, c'mon," she whinged. "You can't just start and then not tell me."

"Yes," he said, "I can."

"No, you can't."

"Miller," he warned, much sharper than his previous half-hearted protests, and she shut her mouth before she could tease him any more. Feeling just a little bit stung, she turned back to her work, and the room lapsed into silence once more. The way they'd been going lately—for they had certainly grown closer since he'd returned to Broadchurch, more amicable; one might even say _friendly_ —Ellie had almost forgotten how much of an arse he could be.

She took a deep breath, and let it slide. There was always time to call him names later.

"I get it, you know," she said shortly, flipping her paper over with a loud rustle.

She didn't look back, but she felt his gaze snap up to her.

"Get what?" he said suspiciously.

"Oh, come off it," she grumbled. "How long've I known you now, you think I haven't figured this out? I'm not judging, is what I'm saying. I know it’s hard. God knows you could use a day off now and again, better than working yourself half to death. Again."

He drew back at her bluntness, shifting on the couch. She could imagine him blinking owlishly at her, the way he did when she caught him off guard.

She softened her tone somewhat. "You can talk to me about this stuff, you know." She glanced back. He was eyeing her with the familiar wary look, but his cheeks were tinged pink with embarrassment, and she resisted the urge to smile. "If you ever want. You've got my number."

He considered this for a long, silent moment, never breaking eye contact. Then he looked down at his paper, and sniffed.

"No," he dismissed.

Ellie rolled her eyes, and turned back to her work. "Suit yourself," she sighed. She didn't know why she bothered; he'd always been a reserved little twat. Probably always would be.

Then again, she'd always been just the opposite, and probably always would be, no sense in denying that. For some unknown, ungodly reason, she still worried about him. It would keep her up at night if she didn’t make sure he was doing alright, every once in a while. And he'd signed up for it when he decided to stick around.

Maybe he didn’t mind it as much as he pretended.

"Are you going to all your appointments, at least?" she continued.

"Bloody hell!" There was a pause. Then he sighed. "Aye," he conceded.

She smiled. "Right. Good."

He made a noise of disgust, and her smile grew wider.

They worked in silence, for the most part, for nearly an hour, Hardy catching himself up on the developments he'd missed and Ellie finishing the day's paperwork. It was by unspoken agreement that they packed up the papers before supper time, and she was more than happy to head home to her boys, now that Hardy didn't look quite so exhausted.

"Are you going to be alright for food?" she asked over her shoulder as he saw her outside. "You can come over, if you haven't got anything in, or…"

"I'm fine, Miller," he said, resigned to her fussing. Then, reluctantly, he assured her, "There's leftovers in the fridge."

"If you're sure." Hefting the files under her arm, she stopped just outside the doorway, and looked up at him. He was leaning against the doorframe again, his poor posture making him appear much smaller than he was. There was a gauntness to him that reminded her a bit too much of _before_ , a forlorn look in his eyes to match.

“You can still come over,” she said. “If you ever want.”

He tilted his head, regarding her as if seeing her for the first time. “Thank you,” he said softly.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded curtly. “Get your rest, then,” she instructed, “and eat something more than bloody salad.”

He raised an eyebrow—the closest he ever came to laughing at that old quip. “See you tomorrow, Miller,” he said, and if she didn’t know better she might think she detected a hint of fondness in his tone.

“I will? I’m fine on my own, you know, you don’t have to–”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “Had enough lying around.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Hesitantly, she stepped up to him and gave him an awkward, one-armed hug, only lasting a moment before she backed away with her cheeks burning. “See you,” she mumbled.

She didn’t look over her shoulder as she walked across the porch and out the gate, with far too much haste to hide her embarrassment. But she could’ve sworn she caught him smiling out of the corner of her eye. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at stcrmpilot.tumblr.com


End file.
